


paint me like one of your french girls

by pragmatic



Category: The 100
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-27
Updated: 2017-04-27
Packaged: 2018-10-24 18:01:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10746936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pragmatic/pseuds/pragmatic
Summary: Bellamy isn't usually one to fight for ownership of a cab, but what can he say? He's passionate about things he sets his mind to.And he refuses to miss his naked modeling job; that's the highlight of his week.





	paint me like one of your french girls

Bellamy knows he can be an asshole, pretty much at any given time day; it's part of his charm. And he knows that when he's rushing or really focused he becomes a little careless to those around him—he's working on it, okay?

It happens like this.

He's on his way to an odd job that he saw a poster for in the subway—his first mistake, you _never_ trust subway posters—and he may have been running a bit late. He had already missed the subway that was heading to Ark, so his only other option is to whistle for a cab, with the rest of the heathens.

He's just about to start waving his arms, already feeling ridiculous, when he sees a cab idling by the sidewalk. In his defense, he hasn't had much experience with cabs, how's he supposed to know that when they're parked next to the sidewalk it means they're already taken? He really can't have, and he simply can't be blamed for what happens next.

He nearly cheers, and hurries to climb in—at the exact same time as a blonde girl with piercing blue eyes tumbles in from the other side.

They both gasp, and yell at each other to get out.

She crosses her arms over her chest, defiant. "This is my cab. You get out."

He gives her an incredulous laugh. "Me? I was here first! Get your own!"

She makes a noise of disgust. "I have my own, you're the one who's going to be out of luck."

He breathes heavily though his nose, weighing his options. He's already late, he supposes he _could_ try and find another cab.

Or, he can tell her to go fuck herself.

He crosses his arms too. "I'm not getting out, princess, so deal with it." The nickname just kind of slips out, and he decides that it fit her. From her perfectly styled hair down to her brand new not a scuff on 'em converse, it's obvious she comes from money.

She growls. "This is a great day, and you're not going to ruin it for me. Have the stupid cab, jackass." She climbs out, slamming the door behind her.

He slouches down in his seat, feeling the slightest twinge of guilt settle in his chest. He tells the cabbie the address and they zoom off. _She'll be able to flag another cab down in no time_ , he thinks, _especially with breasts like those._

\---

He rushes into the studio, interrupting the teacher telling the students to pack their bags. Apologies are already spilling off his tongue as he strips his clothes off his body.

Mr. Nyko sighs, but relents. "It's fine, Mr. Blake, just please hurry to your stool and pose. Maybe the day won't be completely wasted."

Bellamy grins, and does as he's told. He supposes it should feel odd, being completely naked in front of a class of college students, but it's kind of second nature to him by now. He has always been pretty confident about his dick, and now that he has at least ten girls and boys alike swooning over it at once—his ego has grown considerably.

He's been posed for about thirty seconds in the middle of the circle before a sharp gasp startles them all. He turns, and nearly chokes on a laugh.

It's her. The girl from the cab, she's standing in the doorway, wearing an equally surprised and angry expression.

"Clarke!" Mr. Nyko says, ushering her inside.

Bellamy smirks. "Guess we could have just shared the cab, huh princess?"

She glares at him, then apologizes to Mr. Nyko as she scurries to her seat behind a canvas.

Almost giggling, he turns his whole body toward Clarke, giving her a full view of—well, _everything_.

She doesn't even bat an eyelash, though. She simply gets out her paints and bites her lip in concentration. He watches as her paintbrush flies in every different direction, she occasionally glances up, squinting at a certain detail, then she ducks her head again. He doesn't enjoy the small smirk her mouth has curled into.

By the end of the class, he's rotated in a full circle, and is facing Clarke once more. She must have a crick in her neck; she hasn't broke focus once.

Mr. Nyko claps. "You've all worked splendidly today class, let's thank Mr. Blake for coming." A chorus of thank you's fills the room.

Bellamy smiles as he tugs on his shirt. "Anytime."

He hangs back until most of the class filters out into the hallway, and notices Clarke has, too. He smirks, and makes his over to where she seems to be putting the finishing touches on her piece.

His jaw nearly hits the ground when he sees what she's done.

She finishes signing her name, then stands back, admiring. "You like?"

He can't find a response; all he can do is stare open mouthed at the thing that supposed to be him. She's drawn red horns poking out of his skull, and a tail flowing from above his ass. He's posed with his one foot on a rock of some sort—which looks suspiciously like a yellow cab—and he has a pitchfork gripped firmly in his right hand. She hasn't drawn his dick, and for the first time, he feels relief.

Before he's able to get his tongue to function properly, Mr. Nyko comes up beside them both. He puts a hand to his chin in amazement. "My, my, Clarke. I love what you've done with this. Is it to try and represent how naked models are seen as wicked? How it's never seen how they're just people trying to make a living?"

Bellamy covers up his laugh with a cough as Clarke agrees with Mr. Nykos interpretation. Mr. Nyko claps her on the back. "Lovely piece. Well done." He's smiling as he walks away.

Bellamy cups the back of his neck, trying to come up with something that resembles words, as Clarke clears her work space. Finally, she turns to him.

"See you next time." Is all she says, before bolting for the door.

He hadn't even got to compliment how well she had painted the curve of his ass.

\---

They don't end up sharing a cab, much to his utter dismay— _not_.

Clarke has begun a collection of pieces ranging from him riding a horse bareback through the Sahara, to an unknown knight cutting his head clean off. He finds it in no way charming. (A lie.)

Mr. Nyko loves them, always taking time to express his thoughts on what he believes Clarke is trying to interpret. Bellamy can't believe he hasn't realized she's doing it to achieve no other goal than to embarrass him. Octavia finds this ridiculous.

"You're already posing naked for a bunch of college students, while still being one yourself. I really don't think anyone can embarrass you more than yourself." She flicks through the channels, grumbling mournfully about _Eye Candy_ being cancelled.

He flops on the cushion beside her, sighing. "It's not that it's working—she's not embarrassing me in the slightest—I'm just worried about what she'll do next. Painting naked portraits of people is very low on the revenge scale, Octavia."

She makes a incredulous look without taking her eyes off the screen. "You worried she's gonna bring a knife to class and cut off your dick?"

He nods, not catching her sarcasm. "She already painted a picture of someone chopping off my head! It's clearly crossed her mind!"

Octavia sighs, pausing the tv. "I really think you're reading too much into this. Maybe she's trying to get your attention."

"Well," He grumbled, slouching against the couch, "She doesn't have to be so violent about it."

She holds up a finger. " _Technically_ —"

He hits her with a pillow before she can destroy his reason to grump with her stupid logic. Honestly. The nerve.

\---

It's Miller who finally clues him in on to his small (somewhat massive) crush on Clarke.

"You realize that it was only supposed to be a one time deal, right? And yet you keep going back because...?"

"For the exposure to young and flourishing art while also getting more in tune to my body and its insecurities." He says, not missing a beat; he firmly believes denial is always the best route to go when talking about feelings. Or anything in general, really.

Miller rolls his eyes. "You've quit two of your other odd jobs just so you can pose for some shitty artists?"

He bites his tongue to keep from defending Clarke, she's a fantastic artist, no matter how violent or disturbing her paintings are—none of this is helping him win this argument.

He kicks lightly at the bar. "Not all of them are shitty."

Miller pretends to not have heard him. "Every time we hang out your constantly going on about how you do everything in your fucking power to get under her skin, but then you tell me you walk to the elevator together and sometimes even share a cab. _Then_ you complain about her stupid talent and her stupid hands and her stupid face. If you don't have a crush, those things become very creepy, Blake." He takes a slurp of his beer.

Bellamy stares at the bar as he says, "I don't have a crush."

Everything Miller's saying is right, of course, because Miller is always right—he doesn't even bothering talking otherwise—but Bellamy _hates_ having crushes. They're inconvenient, unnecessary, emotion suckers that he simply doesn't have the time or the patience for. There's also the fact that he has no clue how to deal with them properly.

But now that he _knows_ he has a crush on Clarke, he can't just _stop_ knowing. He can't go back to getting angry about her perfectly symmetrical her stupid face is because now he knows why he's so angry about it. And it's not like he can just ask her out—that, _obviously_ , would be way too easy and now it's way out of the question. If he wanted to date her, his perfect opportunity would have been when she painted his naked self getting eaten by a shark—a clear opening to asking someone out. He's just going to drown in his feelings of unrequited love and grow old and bitter. It's fine.

Or, it would be, if Clarke hadn't noticed he was acting different.

She's staring at him strangely, after he had tripped over her easel and nearly impaled himself with it because he was so flustered. He cups the back of his neck and laughs, coughing slightly.

She squints at him. "Are you ok? You're acting weird."

"Am not!" He says too fast, and he barely resists the urge to clap his hand over his mouth so he never speaks again. He _hates_ crushes.

She raises her eyebrows, but doesn't push any further. He thanks god for small mercies.

Embarrassing himself isn't even the worst of realizing he's pining after Clarke; it's the blush that settles in his cheeks and basically every other part of his body when she so much as glances at him. He gets all self conscious when she's painting him now and it's _weird_. She has been staring at his dick for how many weeks now? This should not bother him.

The perfectly logical thing to do would be telling Mr. Nyko that a scheduling conflict has come up and he can't model for the class any longer—but when has he ever been logical about a single thing in his life?

(Octavia later informs him that the _actual_ logical thing to do would be to simply ask Clarke out, but his sister clearly doesn't understand that that's just not an option. He's in too deep.

"You're an idiot, is what you are." She says, smacking him with a pillow.)

He's really trying to work up the nerve to ask Clarke to do something outside of the building—not a date, no, he's much too chicken for that—when she shoves her phone in his face and asks if Octavia Blake has any relation to him.

He sighs. "Unfortunately, yes. You realize I actually can't see anything when the phone is that close to my face?"

She takes it away, shoving it in her pocket and packing up the rest of her things. "She sent me a friend request, just wondering if I should accept it or not."

He shakes his head vigorously. "Definitely not."

"What?"

He shakes his head, his words and their possible meaning catching up to him. "Not—I love my sister, she's great, it's just—she already teases me enough about my love life. I would prefer her not to have full access to—" He slaps a hand over his mouth, to prevent any more stupid from coming out, but Clarke has already caught on to his unsaid confession.

She seems to be frozen for a second, then she grins. "Love life, huh?"

His smile is sheepish. "Or lack thereof."

He's expecting her to ask about what she has to do with his love life, but she just skips right on by the opportunity. "I don't have any siblings," She says, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "But my friends give me more than enough shit to relate wholly."

They begin walking to the door, and he laughs. "Yeah, I have the best of both worlds."

\---

He really can't believe it. He basically admitted that she was part of his love life, and she hasn't said a thing. He's even brought up Octavia once or twice in conversation to see if he can jog her memory, but she doesn't seem to remember the entire conversation even took place.

He's been avoiding the topic of Clarke to his sister, for obvious reasons, but he's really not that lucky.

"How come your kinky artist girlfriend hasn't accepted my friend request?" Octavia shoves some popcorn into her face, talking around it.

He ignores basically all the words in that sentence. "You know she has no clue who you are, right?"

She makes a face. "As if that should matter. All the people I know now I didn't know at some point in my life, that's how making friends _works_."

He shrugs, and steals some popcorn. "Maybe she doesn't want to be friends with you."

She actually _laughs_. "Don't act as if that's even a remote possibility." She pauses, then turns her beady little eyes on him. "What did you say to her?"

He scowls. "Why do you always assume it's my fault?"

"Because my assumptions are always correct."

He sinks further into the couch. "Not _always_."

She beams. "But this time they are. You might as well just come out and say it now, you know you're going to eventually."

He does know this, and he is very annoyed by it. He shrugs, completely nonchalant. "She asked me if she should accept your friend request, and I said no—in a joking way!—and then she asked why I was so against it..." he's completely against telling her what happened next, but like she said, she's going to get it out of him eventually anyway.

She pokes him, and sing songs—" _Continue_."

He throws his head against the back of the couch, groaning. "I—" He rubs a hand over his face. "I said that you bug me enough about my love and I didn't need you having full access—"

Octavia seems to be waiting for him to continue. "Full access? To what?" She makes a motion with her hand.

"To nothing. My brain managed to finally catch up with what I was saying and put me out of my misery."

She's motionless for a moment, then slaps his arm, making him jump. "Ow! What was that for?"

"You can't just stop in the middle of a sentence like that!"

"And why not?"

She's appalled he even has to ask. "Because she doesn't know what you were going to say, she doesn't know you're a complete love sick idiot! She probably took it the wrong way and now she thinks you think she's not an option. Honestly, Bell—do you ever think?"

He's about to question her logic, when something comes into focus. Clarke seemed to have to shake herself before responding to him, and she was quick to change the subject afterwards.

He gasps as it all clicks. "Fuck!"

Octavia rolls her eyes. "Seriously," She mutters. "What the fuck would you do without me?"

He kisses her head before jumping up. "Die alone."

\---

He and Clarke get quite a lot of mileage out of their daily walks to the elevator, and he learned that in the afternoon she was normally studying at her favourite coffee place on fourth—that's where he's headed.

He jogs down the sidewalk, dodging fellow pedestrians until he reaches the small cafe. He pulls open the door, ducking inside and trying not to look to obvious that he's looking for someone while he orders. He grabs his order and walks outside, feeling defeated when he doesn't see any blonde heads popping up. He'll see her tomorrow, of course, but that means he has to wait until then. He's mentioned he's not very good with patience, right?

But then, there's a part in the crowd, and he sees her walking away from him. His feet are moving before he remembers telling them to, and then he's calling her name and she's stopping to look at him.

She smiles when she sees him. "Hey, what's up?"

He tries to calm his racing heart beat. "Um, just in the neighborhood, I guess."

They begin walking again as she gestures to the cup in his hand. "You went to _Beans_?"

He nods. "Yeah, someone told me it was, like, the best in the entire world or something. So I figured it was worth a shot."

She grins. "And? Is it?"

He makes a show of taking a sip, then testing it by slushing it around in his mouth. He hums. "That may be the best coffee I've ever had."

She laughs. "I told you."

He bumps her shoulder with his own. "You did."

There's a lull in the conversation, and he figures now is as good a time as any. "So, my sister is a little outraged that you haven't accepted her friend request."

He doesn't comment when she chokes. "Well, I didn't think you wanted me to."

He almost laughs. "Clarke," He puts a hand on her shoulder to stop her, and guides them to the side of a building. He cups the back of his neck. "When I said I didn't want Octavia giving me shit about you, I didn't mean—I didn't mean to make it sound like I thought you weren't an option." He takes a breath. "Because you are. The only option, actually."

He can see the emotions flick across her face, before she finally smiles, and throws her arms around his neck. "I am so glad we cleared this up. I was worried I was only ever going to get to look at your dick in a public setting."

"The only thing you were worried about?" He smirks, and he kisses her.

\---

Everyone catches on to their relationship fairly quickly, except Mr. Nyko, of course. He can't quite understand where all of Clarkes violent paintings have gone and why they're being replaced with ones filled with love and flowers.

Clarke flops onto the bed, and tells Bellamy to take off his pants.

He grins as he unbuckles his belt. "You want to get your sketch book out?"

She slips her top over her head, then climbs on top of him, taking off his pants herself. "Nope. This is for pleasure only."

"Oh good," He says, surging up to kiss her. "I was worried you only wanted me for my fantastic modeling skills."

She laughs, and he loves her.

**Author's Note:**

> hope this helps you get over the travesty that was last nights episode. thank u


End file.
